


Sculpted

by silent_nyx



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Captured, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, I woke up with this strange idea in my head, I'm Sorry, I'm sorry to both fandoms, Kidnapping, Minor Violence, Restraints, again no actual malcolm in this fic, allusions only to malcolm bright, it's jesus/paul rovia that entire time so be warned, malcolm already is, ok this is a strange fic, paul/jesus gets a little broken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 04:27:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30133971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silent_nyx/pseuds/silent_nyx
Summary: Paul (Jesus) and Aaron stumble upon an old cabin and find someone who believes Paul isn't who he should be. He plans on fixing that.I like Jesus being called Paul...so I called him Paul.
Relationships: Aaron/Jesus (Walking Dead)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Sculpted

**Author's Note:**

> This is an odd fic so be warned. Not sure why I wrote it but here it is. 
> 
> Please note the tags...Malcolm Bright isn't actually in this but he kind of is... but not really...
> 
> You don't need to really know a whole lot about The Walking Dead for this fic but it would be best if you knew Malcolm Bright pretty well.
> 
> Consider this as before Aaron lost his arm.
> 
> I don't own either shows or any character therein. 
> 
> Sorry to both fandoms for this weird ass idea that needed to go somewhere.

Paul was kneeling on the cold floor, concrete biting into his knees as he waited for Aaron to wake up. He himself woke what felt like hours ago but time didn't make sense in a situation like this, when windows were nowhere to be found and movement so severely restricted. His mind had nothing to do but turn time into meaningless nonsense. Paul looked down, once again testing the limits of his restraints. His hands were bolted to the ground in front of him with chains and old fashioned manacles that sat heavy and bit into the skin on his wrists. Paul pulled his hands as close to himself as he could manage, bending over to see the bolt that was locked firmly, pinning the metal together. He could only lift his hands no more than 5 inches off the ground before he came to a hard stop. So little range of movement was ebbing away at his sanity. He tried sitting in different positions, all making him feel vulnerable. He sat cross legged now, his hands nestled between his legs. He sighed and looked up at Aaron again, calling to him gently but firmly. He was breathing but had barely made more than a gasping sound since Paul had woken up. 

Aaron was on the other side of the small room, hanging from his wrists in similar chains, his booted feet scraping against the floor. The chain was bolted to the beam above him and Paul couldn't help but wonder if it would hold had Aaron pulled down hard enough. It was their only hope he could conjure up thus far. That or rescue. But who knew when, or if, that would come. Paul had been stripped of everything but his white button up shirt and his pants; all lock picks and weapons discovered and long gone. He felt as good as naked without them.

He and Aaron had been scouting for supplies to offer the saviors when they stumbled upon an old, broken down cabin. It didn't look like it had been lived in since the turn. Maybe they weren't as cautious as they should have been, maybe they were over confident, maybe they were too wrapped up in teasing each other and casting sidelong glances each other's way. No matter what the reason, they were ambushed. He thinks by one man but he couldn't be sure since he was the first to go down. Paul had been walking behind Aaron as they skirted the cabin and headed towards the shed when he heard a twig snap and spun to see something oh so solid hit him across the head. He was out before he hit the ground. Paul gently pressed the side of his head against his shoulder for the hundredth time, noting that the sticky mess that coated the left side of his head, down into his ear and down his neck was drying with no fresh blood to make his situation more undesirable. 

Paul's head shot up at the sound of Aaron finally starting to come around, pulling him out of his musings. 

“Aaron!” 

He didn't want to alarm him more than necessary but it was really time he woke up. Whoever locked them in what looked to be a storm cellar had to be back sooner rather than later. 

“Aaron! Can you hear me?”

Aaron became aware of the fire licking it's way across his back first, second was the sound of a familiar voice. 

“Aaron! Come on buddy. You've got to wake up.”

He breathed out a pained breath as he slowly took stock of his body. His shoulders were screaming at him and he couldn't feel his hands. He stumbled a bit trying to get his feet under him, finally planting himself firmly, gasping, eyes still tightly shut, he drew himself to full height. Easing the fire in his shoulders. He cracked his eyes open, noting the blinding hot pain as the light seared his brain. Concussion. Great. 

Paul was watching him. He'd climbed onto his knees and was leaning forward as much as possible, everything in him aching to rush to Aaron and make sure he was okay. 

“Aaron?” He dared once more, just a little quieter, as he watched pain crash in waves around his friend's face.

“Give me a minute.” Aaron managed to gasp out. He was gathering himself together the best he could but he needed to be faster. He felt the panic the poured out of Paul's voice with every word he so carefully spoke. He took as deep of a breath as he dared and opened his eyes once more, his head finally clearing enough to take in his surroundings. 

Paul's name came out of him in a rush of emotion. Aaron's breathing kicked up exponentially at seeing Paul kneeling, his hands pinned so close to the floor, blood smearing his features. 

“Are you okay?” 

Paul huffed out an exhausted laugh. 

“Am I okay? I'm not the one whose been hanging around unconscious for the last few hours.”

He was trying to lighten the fear that was oozing out of Aaron but the panicked glint in Paul's eye wasn't selling it very well. 

“I saw you go down,” Aaron said, eyes sweeping over Paul where he knelt, “That was a hard it.”

“My concern is what happened after,” Paul needed to know what they were dealing with and Aaron at least saw who attacked them. 

Aaron took another deep breath, looking like he'd manage to gather a bit more of himself together at last. 

“There was only one guy. After you went down, I went for him but he hit me with some sort of cattle prod,” he huffed, “hurt like hell and I went down. I couldn't move. Then he bashed me over the head with something and I was out for the count.” 

“One guy.” Paul confirmed. 

Aaron just nodded, looking pained and exhausted. 

One guy they might be able to handle, if they could just get out of these restraints. Paul was about to suggest Aaron start working on the bolt above him when both their heads snapped towards the door at the sound of a key, both steeling themselves for whatever came next.

A medium sized man eased the heavy door open and pulled it shut tight behind him. He cast his eyes around the room and sighed like he was irritated, like his busy day was so rudely interrupted. Paul supposes that was sort of true. The man wore dirty jeans and an old torn sweater that hung over his hands. He looked comfortable in the space, like he'd lived here, maybe even alone, ever since the dead started walking. He had an air of confidence about him, like he may have been important once, perhaps the boss of some long dead business. He had an intimidating presence that bled through his pores; he was dangerous. 

Paul tried to sit as tall as he was able, looking the man right in the eye, hoping to implore to whatever kinder nature might have once resided in the man. But any words he thought of seemed to die in his throat. The man was looking at him now, and him alone. His gaze was painfully intense, filled to the brim with curiosity, barely bridled hate and something Paul could only describe as playfulness. They sparkled like a cat that just caught a mouse but it wasn't hungry enough to kill it yet. 

“We're sorry for trespassing,” he managed to rasp out, “We meant no disrespect.”

“What's your name?” The man's voice rolled over his words in a way that made it seem like he was tasting them. 

Paul weighed his options, doubt already springing to life in his gut as how to best not piss this guy off. He figured answering outright would be his best bet. 

“Paul.”

The man laughed at that, showing his teeth as he smiled at the man kneeling before him. 

“Is it now?” 

Paul didn't understand why that was so amusing to the man. He swallowed thickly, watching carefully as the man took a step towards him. 

“Pretty little thing aren't you.”

Paul visibly flinched at the words. They were not what he was expecting, his eyes glancing to a very worried Aaron. He made an attempt at responding but just came back with, “um,” before he was swiftly backhanded across the face. 

“Hey!” Aaron screamed out, unable to do anything but watch the bizarre scene play out before him. The man looked ready to kill Paul, but not for trespassing. Aaron was starting to think this had nothing to do with crossing the wrong property line. He looked at Paul like he'd killed his puppy, or like he was a puppy he wanted to kill. Either way, it was bad.

The backhand knocked Paul down to catch himself on his elbow. He shook his head once, eyeing the man out the side of his vision as he climbed back up onto his knees, hand ineffectually pulling at the chain in an attempt to soothe his aching face. 

He sat silently while fresh blood trickled down his split lip into his beard. 

Paul gasped and tried to flinch back as the man's hand shot out toward him again. But instead of the slap he was expecting, the man grabbed him by the chin, tilting his head up and looking at the wound. The grip was punishing as he brought his thumb up and pressed it into the split lip, Paul again tried to move back and away from the large hands. But he was held firm as the man swept the blood down into his beard, smearing it around before shoving him away with a look of irritation. 

Paul couldn't help but dart his tongue over the wound, tasting metal and salt. He cringed, his stomach rolling as he realized he was likely tasting the man's sweat as much as his own. Paul panicked as the man turned to stalked over to Aaron. 

“What's your name?” Paul called out, trying to draw his attention back to himself and away from his friend. 

He got no response. “We'll just leave. No harm no foul. We didn't mean anything by coming here. We'll leave!”

Paul was out of breath. Not from speaking but from the sheer panic that poured into his veins. His heart was going a mile a minute and this man was giving him nothing to work with. The man was just standing, watching Aaron as he trembled only slightly dangling from his chains. The man huffed and spit at Aaron's shoes before turning back to Paul. The two captives were able to make eye contact briefly, sharing a moment of solidarity between them before the man blocked their view of each other. He stood, looming over Paul, just a foot away from where his hands were bolted to the floor. 

Paul tried not to squirm under the menacing gaze, his fingers twitching and legs aching for him to run. 

“Whatever you want from me,” Paul started, head down but cocked slightly to the side so he could see the man, “I can't give you.” 

A smile wormed it's way across the man's face as he stared. 

Paul knew he was pushing boundaries with no understanding of what crossing them could mean but he needed this man to not look at him like that anymore. It was beyond unnerving. His skin crawled and itched, begging him to heed the multitude of warnings and get as far away from this man as possible. Then a light flicked on in Paul's mind. 

“I look like someone you used to know,” his eyes lit up with understanding and a small measure of curiosity. Maybe, if he could just make a connection, they could get out of this alive. 

But the man's eyes snapped up from where he was watching the blood ooze out of Paul's lip to glare sharply into his eyes. 

Paul fought the urge to flinch, again. He'd made a mistake. 

The man glared hate into him, seemingly in an attempt to reduce Paul to nothing but a bloody heap just with his eyes, before he suddenly turned and stormed out of the small room. 

Paul let out the breath he was holding tight in his chest, “Jesus Christ.” 

Aaron huffed out a nervous laugh, “if only,” he said, trying to offer Paul a sympathetic smile. None of this was going well and this man had eyes only for Paul. He was going to hurt him. That much was obvious.

He watched as Paul took a cleansing breath, trying to shake the nerves out of himself, refocusing. 

“What does that bolt look like to you? Does it look pretty secure?” 

Aaron cast his gaze up to the beam holding a good deal of his body weight. He squinted, trying to get a good look at the bolt holding the chains. 

“It looks like it was screwed in.”

Paul sagged with the smallest measure of relief, “that's good,” he breathed out. 

He look up at Aaron, his shoulders slumping, weighted down with exhaustion after nothing but adrenaline coursing through his veins for the last few minutes. 

“Start spinning,” he said, smirking up at him. 

Aaron grunted out a small laugh that sounded more like a groan as he planted his feet, gripped the chain and started spinning, the chain tightening and giving the bolt more leverage to unscrew as he went. 

Paul started picking at his own bolt but his was held firmly in place in the concrete floor. Still, he added smears of blood from his fingertips as he scraped and pulled with all the energy he had left. 

They couldn't have been at it for more than a few minutes before the sound of the key stopped their attempts at escape and froze them both in place. 

Aaron quickly glanced up at the bolt as the man made his entrance. He could see a fraction more of the thread but had barely made progress. He had a long way to go and he didn't know how much time they could spare. He cast is eyes back to Paul to see confusion edged deep into his face. 

The man had returned with a pair of rusty scissors. 

Paul kept as still as he could manage while his eyes tracked the man's every movement. Scissors weren't great but they certainly were not what he was expecting. 

The man tucked the scissors into his back pocket and crouched down, elbows on his knees and sighed, dragging his eyes over every inch of Paul's face, his body, his hands. Paul couldn't stop the tremble that was starting to make itself obvious, the chains at his hands beginning to rattle. A cold sweat broke out across his flesh at the proximity of the man, his mind wracking in an attempt to find a way out of whatever was happening. He was panicking, he knew it. His breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps, his heart crushing away any attempt to soothe the ache in is lungs as they screamed for air. The man hadn't even really touched him yet! Paul's mind scrambled. He didn't know what to do. This man was going to kill him, slowly, and he was sure of it. The truth of that fact struck him like a cold lightening bolt right into his soul. The soul this man wanted to claim for his own taking. Paul had never known such fear.

“Please,” was the only word he could find and it came out with such an aching desperation that he barely recognized his own voice. 

“There you are,” the man grinned, actually grinned, like he just discovered a long lost treasure. 

He stood abruptly, Paul's head craning back in an effort to keep his eyes trained on the threat before him. His hand shook uncontrollably now. He yelped as his head was violently pulled back by a fist gripping his hair. 

Aaron flinched right along with Paul. This man was predatory, like a tiger stalking it's prey. Aaron could only watch as the man started practically petting Paul, but looking at him like he was examining a specimen. His hands pulled roughly through his hair, he gripped at his face and dragged his fingers over his lips and down his neck. He heard Paul gasp as the man added just the smallest amount of pressure, cutting off his airway and watching the panic pour into his eyes, easing up just as quickly. Paul gasped one breath into his lung before the man did it again, squeeze, release. And again. He played with Paul's life with such ease and it was fucking terrifying. Paul could do nothing to stop him. Finally the man's hands moved again, cupping his face and back into his hair as he frowned deeply. Paul's hands twitched and pulled the small distance they could, clenching into tight fists when the touching just wouldn't stop. By the time the man was satisfied with whatever he was trying to figure out, Paul was a shivering mess, flinching without the man having to even move towards him anymore, coiling into himself just that little bit more with each passing second. 

The man again grabbed a handful of Paul's hair, pulling his head back as he yanked the hair up and away from his face. Paul gasped and ground his teeth, breathing quickly turning from barely controlled to damn near hyperventilating. He was losing control. The man took the scissors from his back pocket and, carefully watching Paul's face, cut a chunk away from his hair, letting the severed ends slowly fall to the floor. Paul took a deep, stuttered breath as the man smirked, grabbing another handful. 

Aaron watched as the man he so admired slowly turned into a shell of himself. His long hair was being hacked to pieces. Bits standing up at all angles as Paul sat perfectly sit, slightly slumped over in the smallest attempt to protect himself as his head was roughly pulled this way and that. Aaron couldn't even be sure he was breathing if it wasn't for the small, wheezing gasps that escaped with the rough treatment. Paul's knuckles were clenched painfully tight, gleaming white across the bone. Aaron tried to call to him, to calm him, to give him something to hold onto, but he would no longer look his way. His eyes had gone from clenched tightly shut to this unfocused, shattered gaze that broke Aaron's heart. He could do nothing as this man had somehow found the one way to so effortlessly break the strongest, kindest man he'd ever known. He could only watch as Paul knelt, eyes cast to the side as snips of hair fell like leaves all around him. He somehow looked so much smaller now. Smaller than his usual commanding, confident presence would ever allow. But with his mane of hair so unwillingly taken away from him like that, he just looked so painfully young. Aaron felt tears sting their way into his eyes at the transformation. He just looked so vulnerable. 

Paul finally moved, the first sign that he was aware of what was happening since the second cut. He pulled away when the man carded his hand through his much shorter hair, now only about three inches long. The man briskly rubbed out all the loose strands and admired his handywork. It was bad. Tufts sticking out all over the place at all different lengths, his butchered hair laying around him like feathers plucked out of an eagle's wings. 

The man grabbed his chin again and forced his head up. Paul had the presence of mind to look him full in the eyes. The man just tisked. 

“Let's see what we can do about this beard, shall we.” 

“Just stop!” Aaron cried out from where he hung, helpless, “you've made your damn point!”

The man spun on him, for once acknowledging that Aaron was in the room. Aaron fought to swallow the fear that burned like acid up his throat. 

“And what is my point,” the man asked as he sauntered over to Aaron, spinning the scissors in his fingers. 

Aaron swallowed thickly, “You want to shame him. To punish him,” he took a quick breath, “I don't know why.” 

The man's eyebrows shot up and he thought about it. 

“Not bad,” he nodded, “But no.” The man punctuated the “no” by tapping Aaron on the head with the scissors. “I want him back. I'm going to mold him. So we can start again.”

Aaron squinted in confusion, “What do you mean, back? You don't know him.” 

Aaron risked a glance at Paul, looking for confirmation. Paul was listening but had this look of resignation to him. Like he'd given up at trying to fight. That look didn't belong on Paul's face. 

The man tilted back on his heals, “Oh I know him. We've lived lifetimes together, him and me. We're connected.” 

“You're insane,” Aaron stated outright. 

“No!” the man yelled, “I'm going to save him. Like I was supposed to!” 

He turned back to Paul and Aaron watched as Paul's frame started shaking uncontrollably. He honest to god whimpered when the man stepped up close to him again and Aaron let the tears that had been threatening to fall pour down his face. He gasped at the sheer helplessness of it all. Taking a deep breath, Aaron looked up at the bolt. With the man's focus squarely on Paul, he had work to do. 

Paul felt like he was going to shake apart. The slight tremble that had coursed under his skin has now completely taken over his body. He risked a single glance Aaron's way, the utter shame that had bled it's way up his neck and across his face prevented him from looking at his friend earlier. He was consumed by it and he didn't understand why. The way the man handled him, batting him around like he was a plaything, talking to him like he was his savior and his oldest friend. Telling him not to worry, that Paul was only lost, while cutting his hair away and morphing him into someone else, some poor soul who had once landed in this man's crosshairs. He shuttered. Why did it all hurt this much? He feels shattered, fractured beyond repair, and he can't comprehend why. This man could have done just about anything to him; beat him, cut him with knives, even a baseball bat, and Paul knew he could have withstood the torment. But this, whatever this was, this was destroying him. The shame didn't feel like it should even belong to him but it was strangling him nonetheless. And to be so completely at this man's, this strangers, mercy. Chained to the floor, unable to brush the falling hair off his arms, unable to stand, to fight back, to wipe blood from his own damn face; he felt stripped completely bare. It devastated him. 

The man paid Aaron no mind at all while he palmed at Paul's beard, turning his face this was and that, as if admiring a piece of art while Paul kept his eyes cast down, unable to look at the grotesque pleasure the man was getting from all this. He gasped as the man grabbed at his beard with two fingers and pulled the hair taut. He took the scissors again and cocking his head to try to catch Paul's gaze as he simply said, “hold still now.” 

Paul shuttered, his eyes squeezing closed at the sound of the man taking scissors to his beard. He sat as still as he could possibly manage, the edge of the scissors dragging across his face over and over again. He hissed and flinched back when the man misjudged his cut and sliced his face, just over his jaw, blood quickly dribbling down his neck. 

“Hush,” the man admonished him and cuffed the side of his face as he re-positioned his grip on Paul's chin. The cut ached. It felt deep, but he couldn't tell at this point. His every nerve felt like it was being zapped with electricity. He was buzzing with an aimless anxiety that had nowhere to run. He shivered at the blood dripping slowly down to stain the collar of his shirt, keeping his eyes shut as the man worked. 

“There!”

The man proclaimed, dropping Paul's face from his grasp and grandly stepping back as if looking at his final masterpiece. Paul's head hung low between his trembling shoulders. Every muscle seized tight and quaking with tension. Short, shallow breaths stuttered out of him as he held his jaw firmly clenched. A river of unleashed fury and shame cascading in waves off his very essence. 

“Look at me!” 

The man demanded, shocking Paul enough to look up and glare at his sculptor, his creator. A single tear managed to finally escape and made a glaring trail down his face, completely exposed to the world without the curtain of hair to shield it's decent. 

“Perfect.” 

The man looked genuinely pleased as he gazed almost lovingly at Paul. 

“I'm going to name you...Malcolm,” the man beamed with delight. 

“You'll go through the trails again, just like before, since you've probably lost all your old scars.” 

The man frowned at the thought. Eyes pinched in worry, he came towards him again. Paul tried to shuffle back as the man knelt down and grasped the hem of his shirt, yanking it up to reveal his left side. Paul shook even harder, trying to keep track of the random, unpredictable, violent man that was now calling him little Malcolm and rubbing his thumb just below his rib, as if in sorrow for a memory lost. He held himself as still as possible, having no other choice. Then, he caught movement behind the man. Aaron! 

Hope seized his heart and he tried desperately to will it to slow, fearing the man with his palm flat again his side would feel the rapid beat. 

He caught Aaron's eyes just as the bolt was about to come loose and Aaron nodded. 

Finally, with something to do, a way to fight back, and with the man so close and his walls down as he lamented at Paul's untorn flesh, Paul whipped his head back and flung it forward with a force that contained everything he had left. 

Paul's vision went white with the hit but the man had fallen backward with blood pouring from his broken nose just as Aaron fell to the ground. 

Aaron's arms screamed in protest as they switched positions so brutally fast after being held up for so long. He landed on one knee and sprung up. Paul looked dazed but angry and had swung around to his side and delivered a swift kick with his heel straight down into the man's abdomen. The man curled in on himself only briefly, anger fueling his movements. He was rolling back up, angry eyes fixed on Paul when Aaron wrapped the chain binding his wrists together around the man's neck. He fell back, wrapping his legs around the man's middle and held on for dear life. Paul watched the light slowly dim in the man's eyes, the cruel glee finally being smothered out of existence. Aaron held until he was sure the man was out. 

The man finally slumped in his arms and Aaron had to fight to get the dead weight off of him. Rolling him to the side, he dug into the man's pockets, grabbing the keys to the restraints and the door. Finally, he dared to look up at Paul. 

The moment their eyes connected, Paul broke, gasping out a sob and curling in on himself once more. Aaron knelt before him, pulling the sobbing man into his chest and pressing his hand against his head. He wanted to put his hands through Paul's hair to soothe away...everything, but he didn't dare. 

“Please,” Paul whispered, so quietly, Aaron wasn't sure he didn't imagined it. Aaron pulled back slightly, tears staining his own face, and looked at the shattered man in his arms. Paul gestured to his hands and made a whimpering sound that cut a deep wound into Aaron's heart. One he thought would never heal. Paul didn't make sounds like that. 

Aaron eased up his grip, making sure Paul was steady enough to hold himself up, and reached down to unlock the manacles pinning him to the floor. Once his trembling hands were free, Paul simply crumbled. He curled into Aaron and held him with all the strength he had left. 

That sat like that until Paul's breath started to even out. Wracking sobs turning to small hiccups of gasping breaths. 

“Beautiful.”

Both men tensed and pulled away from each other looking at the man who spoke. He was still laying on his back, looking pale and struggling to take in air. Aaron must have severely damaged his windpipe. 

The man just smiled, eyes focused on Paul with a lecherous gaze, as Aaron stood up, hands still bound and walked over to the man. 

“He's not yours,” Aaron stated, glaring with more fury than he thought should exist in the world. He thought about it for half a second, barely hearing Paul scream “no” as he brought his boot down and crushed the man's skull.


End file.
